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Show General Pat Cleburne. BiFORE the modern rifle was invented in-vented with telescope attachment, enabling a soldier to put a ball into in-to his enemy at "long range." the civil war took place in this country. The Springfield rifle was considered the best gun in the service, but the best part of that gun was the bayonet at the shooting shoot-ing end. Talk as we may about the horrible carnage which the modern engines en-gines of war are-sure to provoke in action, it is nothing compared to the old bayonet charge of a troop of men; it is nothing like the wild courage which inflames soldiers who look into each other's eyes and ram the bayonet into each other's bodies on the dreadful dread-ful field of strife. The battle of Franklin; Tenn., was such a battle. It was a last ditch fight for the Confederates Confed-erates under General Pat Cleburne, chasing the forces of Federals to Nashville. Nash-ville. This brave Irish-American lost his life at the head bt his troops in one of ' those bloody charges we have described. de-scribed. ' ' : : Father Ryan, the poet of the South, paid a glowing tribute in verse to the gallant Arkansan. Of course it is intensely in-tensely Southern, but that fact appears ap-pears rather to add than detract from itB diterary merit as a poem. Of General Gen-eral Cleburne, he writes: "The name of Patrick Cleburne, ma jor-general in the Confederate army, j is one which should not be forgotten in the military annals of our race. He was the hero of over thirty pitched battles, and the number of minor actions ac-tions in which he participated is beyond be-yond precedent. He was distinguished for decision and intrepidity, and al-most al-most every movement committed to his division was successful. He received re-ceived the incessant congratulations of the Southern press, and was several times complimented by the Confederate Confeder-ate congress. After the death of Jack-so'n Jack-so'n he got the soubriquet of "The "Stonewall of the West," for he was to the army of Tennessee what Jackson Jack-son was to that of Virginia. But, most of all, he was tender and generous to the vanquished, and, as Ferguson says, 'Kindly Irish of the Irish.' He lies in a lonely grave in the village of Columbia, Tenn., whitber he was borne after the battle of Franklin by one of his officers. I know I have not done justice to his memory, but history will not consign his name to oblivion. Biding Bid-ing her consideration, let the foregoing be a leaflet to his memory." "CLEBURNE." How far and fast the autumn blast Beats the dead leaves o'er the ground; As fast and far has the hand of war Strewed our country's bravo around! And their nameless graves are the ocean's caves. The forest and mountain glen. Where the vulture screams as the ungry streams Are hiding the boues of men! And what anguished cries From the South arise. For the brave ones fallen in vain? While the victor North Rings naons forth. And exults in her broad domain! A fire suppressed In Vesuvius' breast The latent fires of crime la the human frame pulse on the -same; 'Till fanned by the storms of time; As the lava-fold swept uncontrolled. Where Pompeii's glories shone, So the wakened rage of a vandal ago When freedom is o'erthrown! And we'll look in tears. Through long, long years. For the brightness shrouded o'er, . But the golden rays Of her halcyon days Shall return to the land no more! Then fling the horde, their base" award Their chief his triumphal crown; Place vile deceit in his judgment seat. Where honor is trampled down; Give a paltry bribe to the hired scribe, To the venal bard his fee: But him who draws in a righteous cause A freeman's sword give me! . Though his bones should bleach, On the sea washed beach. ' Though his grave be the lowly mound, His name shall chime-Through chime-Through the halls of Time, And swell through the deep profound! Ye brave en masse, who fall, and pass To the leaden halls of Death, . - There are palms for the few, but alas! ' ' for ypu. Not a leaf from the victor's wreath! But I-sing of one whose glory shone Like a meteor,, bright and grand. Who gave his name to the trumph of fame, And his blood to his generous land! The festive toast The soldier's boast, The, type of a martial age! The foe of wrong, TJifl soul of song And the light of a future page! The base grow bold for the power of gold. The vain through fear of scorn; The good wax strong in their hate of wrong; . But he was a warrior born. From his eagle glance, and a stern "Advance!" - ' -And his action swift as thought. The rank and file from his own fair Isle Their courage electric caught. As the whirlwind's path Shows '. ' fiercest wrath" Through ' lordliest foreign pines. So the c.e;)est wuve Or the fallen brave Told where Cleburne crossed their lines. On Richmond's plain his captive train Outnumbered the host he led. And he won his stars on the field of Mart Where glorious Johnston bled! 'Twas his to cope, while a ray of hope lllum'd his flax and then 'Twas his to die, while that flag "flew hlKh" In thte van of chivalric men! For n braver host Could Krin boast, ' Nor than he a more gallant knight, oniee me ieene5 uusu Crossed tho Avon dim, And Barrnal's hosts aflight. There were eves afar who watched your star As it rose with the "Southern Cross,' There were hearts that bled when its course was sped, And old Ireland felt your loss! While her flower shall blow, or her waters flow Through Shannon. Suir and l.ee. The patriot's song shall roll along Their windin" waves for thee! And th-.-y will tl! with urldc, How Cleburne died In the land of the "free and the brave," How his sword of misrht Was a beam of light. Though it led to an exile's grave. Abram J. Ryan. John S. Mullen of 1243 Adams street. Chicago, writing to the editor of this paper and enclosing the above poem, adds that General Cleburne's remains were removed about ten years ago to his old home, Helena, Ark., where the hero of the battle of Franklin sleeps beneath be-neath a grand monument. |